A bell rang.
“Back!” the trooper said. “Against the wall! Quick! Into the doorway!”
“What’s up?”
“Another practice alert.” The trooper’s voice was bored. “It gets so that you’d almost wish for a fight to relieve the monotony.”
A trooper and several Lani came down the corridor, running in disciplined formation. Steel clanged on steel as they turned the corner and moments later the whine of servos came faintly to their ears. From somewhere deep in the pile a rising crescendo of generators under full battle load sent out vibrations that could be sensed rather than heard. A klaxon squawked briefly. There was another clash of metal, and a harsh voice boomed through the corridors. “Fourteen seconds. Well done. Secure stations!”
The trooper grinned. “That ties the record,” he said. “We can go now.”
The corridor ended abruptly at an iris flanked by two sentries. They conferred briefly with Kennon’s guide, dilated the iris, and motioned for Kennon to enter. The pastel interior of the modern office was a shocking contrast to the gray ferromorph corridors outside.
Douglas Alexander was standing behind the desk. He was much the same. His pudgy face was haggard with uncertainty and his eyes darted back and forth as his fingers caressed the knobby grip of a small Burkholtz jutting from a holster at his waist. There were new, unpleasant furrows between his eyes. He looked older and the indefinable air of cruelty was more pronounced. He had been frightened the last time Kennon had seen him, and he was frightened now.
“I’m not sure whether I am glad to see you, Kennon,” he said uncertainly. “But I suppose I have to be.”
Kennon believed him.